I thought I would give you some little glimpses of some of the ordinary activities of living in China.
What started this chapter was a scene I observed outside my window on the balcony, 4 floors up, in the apartments across from ours. I was first drawn to the scene by the sound of a young child crying. The grandfather was outside with a little boy about 2 years old. The child obviously was not happy with life. Grandfather was talking to him and the little boy was violently shaking his head. Grandfather went inside and when I next looked the boy's father was with him. Both were seated on tiny, 6 inch-high stools at a little table. They were eating noodles, with the child waving a chopstick as father offered him some. A quick shake of the boy's head, indicated no, so the noodles disappeared into father's mouth instead. The next time noodles were offered, the little head nodded. Father placed the long noodles into the boy's mouth holding up the trailing ends with his chopsticks as the boy slurped them down. Father picked up another chopstick of noodles, holding them high above the bowl, but the noodles continued unbroken. The child was obviously delighted in the long noodles and father shared that delight, laughing and nodding; into the child's mouth they went. A lonnnnng slurp later he was ready for more. What a great way to start the morning.
Another glimpse is on the bus. We are squashed in like sardines. The bus stops and two more youths wedge on, right in front of where I am precariously perched on about 4 inches of a hard board seat. They have a bag full of small, sour but delicious, green Mandarin oranges. They take turns laughing and splitting the oranges in half by twisting them. One half of each orange is offered each time to the friend. Juice runs down their chins and they grin and laugh as they swing and sway around the corners.
We have just finished a two-hour bus ride to Heng Shan, a famous holy mountain in the south of Hunan province. The man sitting next to me is pretty fluent in English, and he and I have conversed on many topics during the bus ride. He denied having any religious beliefs, feeling that improving himself through education and providing a better life for his 8-year-old daughter are enough. As we dismount from the bus we are met by a flurry of people waving yellow paper-wrapped packages of firecrackers and long, sometimes very thick, sticks of incense at us. Several minutes later everyone has bought them and is writing Chinese characters, theirs and loved ones names, on the packages -- my non- religious friend included. We continue to a Buddhist temple where the firecrackers are then thrown into a small brick building like an open kiln. It has a very fancy red tile roof with decorated ends and roofline. Thick, black smoke billows out of the top as your ears are deafened by the sound of exploding firecrackers. This is their way to ask for help from God. My non-religious friend was throwing in as many blocks of firecrackers as the most devout believer. We then proceeded to climb the sacred mountain. After climbing around a thousand stairs, we lost count. Hours later we finally reached the summit to find the same scene repeated. In some ways it was impressive to see so many people willing to make the trek up the mountain, though many rode the buses. However, the shrine was littered with thousand of now empty bags and the remains of the firecrackers. Again your ears were accosted with the intense noise of exploding crackers, and your eyes and nose burned with the thick smoke from them. It seems sad to me that people don't take better care of their holy places, if these are actually so important to them. Of course, this is merely the opinion of an outsider. We did walk most of the way up, only taking a cable car for the steepest part. I carried the backpack with the 4 bottles of water, snacks, and outer clothing. Tim carried Tariqa for a large part of the way. A fellow teacher from our university pulled her off Tim's back, and carried her up the steepest flights of stairs. It was my friend from the bus ride. His daughter walked the whole way, as did Taalan. The greatest difficulty for me was that the steps were so close together and short that it felt very unnatural climbing them. Two steps at a time were too long and tiring; one left me mincing along until I felt my legs were going to fall off. Just when I would reach a pinnacle, there would be some kind of holy building, and more steps. The mountain was 1294 meters high. We took a bus down. It was a long way, and so winding that I didn't know whether to risk getting carsick by looking out the side windows, or to get half scared out of my wits looking out the front, as we appeared time and again to be about to miss the turn entirely and head over the cliff. Taalan asked me to remind him, next time we are asked to visit a holy mountain, to decline the invitation.
Tariqa had her fifth birthday last week. Some of the children found out during the day and came over after dinner to give her some little presents. One was a musical birthday card, another a book to write memories in, and another was three pears. It was so touching that they wanted to do this. The young college student who tutors Taalan each week remembered over the holidays that it was Tariqa's birthday and came back from her travels with two ceramic dolls. They have overlarge heads that are attached by springs to their little legs and bodies -- very different, but very cute.
Another very common sight is to see small children being wheeled in strollers by their grandmothers. I never see a small child crawling. Even very young children are being held upright and walked by their grandparents. After they start walking on their own, you see them everywhere, trailed by their grandparents. Diapers are not used. Instead their clothes have a split from front to back. If they need to go potty, grandparents just take them to the side of the road and hold their little feet up, bottom hanging down, and they go potty. It is quite a sight seeing little brown bottoms peeking out of the splits of their pants, as they run around in all directions. I will be interested to see what the parents do in the winter. I imagine it is much too cold to have bottoms bare then.
Each morning, and several times a day, you hear people calling in the streets below the apartments. When I asked what they were saying, I was told they were telling people to bring out their trash. I have since seen people carrying buckets on a pole that angle over their shoulders, one bucket on each end. These are full of very soft tofu and sold in small bowls with sugar sprinkled on top, which is quite good, though still tasting of tofu. I have also seen people with a cage on the back of their bike with layers of mugs in the cage. I don't know what is in the mugs, but it is obviously something the local people like to eat for breakfast, because that is when they come around. Apparently it is cooked rice.
Yesterday I followed two friends of Taalan's to school. On the way they collected green burrs, about an inch long, off the plants beside the sidewalk. They then proceeded to have a throwing contest. The targets, of course, were each other. They arrived at school laughing and covered with sticky burrs all over their backs. When they are especially naughty, they get into throwing matches with the girls, aiming for the girls' hair. Tariqa has come home several days with burrs in her hair. They are VERY difficult to get out, especially from long hair.
I will finish with a little piece of Chinese wisdom. Often when our children were misbehaving or talking back, we would be totally exasperated. The Chinese nearby, however, would tell us how very clever our children were. I never understood why they did this until talking with Rosa, Taalan's tutor last night. The Chinese believe that only clever children are bright enough to oppose their parents. Therefore, whenever the Chinese see children misbehaving, it is a sign of their cleverness. A child that is not clever will never be disobedient. So next time your child is testing your authority, you know you have a clever child. It is, therefore, a good thing. May we all be blessed with clever children. ;>}
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